Fate Links Thee to me Forever and a Day
by RachyBaby09
Summary: Christine & her beloved Angel share an awkward lesson nights before the Gala. Christine questions her Angel's divinity…finding they cannot escape each other. Wuthering Heights references. ONESHOT.


_(a/n: Here's another oneshot. I've actually been working at this one for awhile. Mainly 2004-verse. A bit of interaction between Christine and her beloved Angel Of Music. Warning: the ending is sad! __You might notice that a couple lines/themes were inspired by Bronte's Wuthering Heights. Some Leroux 'Faust/Romeo & Juliet Wedding Song' lines, as well. Please drop a review.)_

* * *

_Fate Links me to Thee Forever and a Day_

_Christine Daae's narration, two evenings from Gala night…_

I made haste for the dressing room, fighting the exhaustion which was rapidly claiming my body. The dire need for rest was beyond tortuous! My legs were weak and stubborn, poorly carrying my feeble weight. And what a frail body it was! I imagine I was more powerless than a poor ragdoll! Even worse, my ballerina slippers seemed to be lined with hot coals—rather than sewn from fine silk. Each step I took burned more than the last; my feet were terribly sore from hours (upon hours) of dancing. Every inch of me ached with pains I hadn't known to exist! And, I assure, I am not one to complain!—eleven years of the Opera had trained my mind and body to such harsh conditions.

Heavens! Opera Garnier's Gala was nights away. The new production of Hannibal was the most demanding opera yet. Not to mention, my tutor had become brutally strict over the past weeks.

Butterflies tickled my stomach, as I remembered my Angel's latest vow:

"You are ready, Christine. Gala night, the world will hear you sing. Gala night, the world will love you."

I wanted nothing more than to surrender to a deep and everlasting sleep. Sleep was beautiful; sleep was the uniting of my other half. Oh! Sleep—how wonderfully inviting it seemed! In sleep… he would sing those gentle melodies. Within my dreams… I would disappear into the gentle silk of Apollo's Musical Lair. His lair. His wings would spread wide, sweeping me against the beat of his chest. The chest of a man. His embrace was possessive, and I loved it. A sense of completeness claimed me; I felt safe and protected, hidden within the shield of his arms. Yes—arms—not wings! It was a rather unorthodox affair. My soul blushes tremendously! It was a vivid, musical affair.

Within those dreams, my Angel of Music quite often transformed. He became a man. A man of flesh and blood! His masterful fingers would caress each and every inch of my aching body. And his eyes—oh, those burning eyes!—how they penetrated through me! Devoured me whole! They were two, twinkling stars—dancing amongst a stage of black. Like the lady I was, I curtsied in their presence.

Within his Musical Lair, our roles reversed. He would worship me…as a man worships his wife.

I surrendered. I was putty within those ghostly hands. Hands which could carve me into anything and everything. The sky of Apollo's Musical Lair was the limit!

They were masterful hands…hands of a genius…hands of a sculptor…hands of a lover…hands of a creator. I was his muse…his music…and an instrument from which he would create. He played me with a most passionate touch.

It was blasphemy! Oh! What would my beloved Papa have thought of his Little Lotte and her strange affair? Yet, I was not entirely at fault. Papa had sent me a very dark being. The music of my Angel's voice was every bit seductive—holding an unmistakable romance within its arias. Each night, my Angel of Music seduced me through the haze of my dreams, far beyond the realm of the living, into the seat of his musical throne. Each night, I was crowned his queen. Within dreams, my Angel and I were one, beautiful entity.

I was a fool in love.

I inwardly cursed such forbidden fantasies. Yes—they were fantasies…and far beyond the forbidden! Nothing more. Had the adorable Voice been a man, I would have pursued its master shamelessly. The mere thought sent shivers down my spine, down to the tip of my toes, and back up again: the Angel of Music caressing me with his familiar voice and foreign touch…all at once.

But no flesh and blood man could ever possess such a voice. He would forever be my Angel of Music. My longings were a dream and nothing more.

_His home was Heaven, and I would die a thousand deaths if I knew he was waiting there for me._

But, no!

After all, the Angel of Music is never seen! Surely, one would be struck by Heaven's fire at the very sight of him. And surely I would be struck by Hell's fire for thinking such twisted, unholy thoughts. His beauty was unfit for a mortal's gaze. But he is_ heard_ by those blessed few who are meant to hear him. And, so, why was I not content? Why did I not feel blessed? Why did I feel a strange void—a strange incompleteness—lurking deeply within myself?

My soul wept from the tragedy.

Why couldn't my Angel have been born a man?

* * *

I chewed the flesh of my bottom lip until I tasted the flavor of blood. My mind was lost to a strange haze—as it too often was. It was a useless fight. My Angel was always in my mind…tucked within the womb of my soul. I was his. He was mine. We were one.

During performances, I would find my gaze ascend and search the tier boxes' of the elite—as if I might find my darling angel seated amongst the living. Sometimes, I would study Box 5—the Phantom's box—with a strange envy. Why couldn't my Angel be a Phantom? Opera Garnier's resident ghost took a decadent pleasure in letting himself be known. Alas! Even sporadically seen! Joseph Buquet had convinced the entire corps ballet he was a very ugly Phantom…eyes of Hell's fire, face of Death…

Joseph Buquet ought to have held his tongue; if _there was_ a Phantom of the Opera, I imagine he would not appreciate being mocked. The 'Punjab lasso' had been infamously coined as the Phantom's preferred-choice-of-weapon…or so Buquet had passionately claimed.

Oh! If my Angel had been a phantom—he would have been beautiful! My phantom would have been a transparent and luminous being, face a chaste white. Oh, Angel of Music—haunt me as a ghost, drive me mad…only do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you. I cannot live without my life; I cannot live without my soul.

A pity; phantoms often haunt the living in this tangible way. Angels do not.

My heart fluttered with every aria I sang and every step I danced. Infatuation with his magical voice was the least of my adoration for my Angel. I loved how he had chosen me. I loved his unwavering dedication for (me) his protégé. I loved hearing his sweet voice within my darkness. I loved how he whispered my name like the holiest of prayers. I loved how he made me feel so…alive…so loved.

I loved him. He was my soul mate.

* * *

Heavens! What time was it? I could not say! I could not think! I knew rehearsal had run far longer than it had been anticipated; Carlotta's tears and tantrums had been certain of this. Forgive me for saying…but, what a wretched toad!

I knew I should have been at the dressing room hours ago. I knew this night was far from over.

I knew he would be displeased.

Destined tears stung my eyes. I would have moved both the moon and stars, if only to please him! He was my master—and I, his loyal protégé.

My throat devoured my churning stomach.

I knew I was late! I simply knew it! That, alone, was deserving of death! My pains and aches quickly numbed at the mere thought of me being tardy for my lesson. I knelt, undoing the binding of my ballet slippers. A long sigh of relief fled from my lips; blood flow returned to my feet as my toes wiggled in gratitude, resurrected. My right hand clutched the slippers to my racing chest; the opposite secured my costume's sweeping skirt, lifting it from the floor in a quick motion. I was dressed as a 'slave girl'. Odd attire for a lesson with an angel—I thought. Then again, he _was_ my master.

I ran for the dressing room. My pace quickened, as I raced through the Opera's slim and lightless halls, in tune with its every curve.

In moments, I shrieked and tumbled down to my bottom—as I pitifully slammed into a wall of flesh.

"Oh, my! Christine, dearest!"

Elise, one of the many servant girls, crouched beside me, clutching a hand to her heaving breasts. "Oh! My apologies! Shame on my clumsiness. Poor, dear! Are you badly hurt?" She offered her hand for my taking, young face warped with horror.

Grabbing hold of Elise's out held hand, I reassured, "I am quite all right. In any manner, it is I who should be imploring forgiveness! I had no mind to race about as I did!"

Elise smiled oddly. "Well, I do suppose your running into me was a Godsend."

My nose crinkled at her strange statement.

"Oh? How do you mean?"

"Well, a rather handsome young suitor inquired on you, is all!" My brow scrunched, and I felt myself frowning. "Oh, dear…he was here only moments ago! With his elder brother, I believe…speaking with those new managers. What humbugs those managers are! They'd been wise to stay in the junk business!"

Elise giggled and straightened her bonnet, blue eyes glowing. "Not sure precisely what business your suitor was on…I could have sworn something was mumbled about purchasing Box 5…" After a silence, she added with a triumphant grin, "I believe he is an important gentleman here in Paris."

I truly did not care to know whom my "handsome, young suitor was," what "business he and his brother were on," nor what his "inquiry" concerned. Besides, my heart and soul were lost within the glory of my Angel; it would not be fair to a suitor. Any affection which I could ever grant a suitor would pale in comparison.

And I was sure the Phantom of the Opera would not be pleased with these uninvited visitors. Box 5 had always been the Ghost's Box.

Though, Elise was so wonderfully giddy—so wonderfully lost within the romantic suspense at hand—I thought there was no harm in humoring her intrigue:

"Oh? Might I know my suitor's name?"

Elise's hands clutched childishly together as she leaned into me. Her eyes became as wide and innocent as her heart. "Why, my words shan't spoil such a fairytale ending! He asked that I say nothing…that it be left all to fate! He asked that I give you…this!"

Reading my confusion and imminent frustration, Elise slipped a hand into her apron and withdrew folded parchment. "Oh, Christine, dearest! He said this with such adoration…smiling like a dashing schoolboy! I nearly blushed from the beauty of him! You shall be the envy of every young lady, I am quite sure! My heart melts for you! Such a handsome, romantic fellow he is…" She sighed melodramatically.

Elise's excited chattering and talk of elaborate wedding dresses, eternal vows, and romantic escapades faded from my consciousness.

My eyes danced over my fate:

'_My Little Lotte:_

_Fate seems to be on our side. Philippe and I are Opera Garnier's newest patrons. Imagine my joy upon discovering you—Christine Daae, my Swedish playfellow of so long ago—here amongst the company! It was quite difficult not to approach you tonight. But I withheld my utter joy—not wishing to disturb your practice. You are as lovely and pure as the very day I met you, Christine. I should hope you have your red scarf in safe keeping. After all, I went through much trouble to fetch it from the sea._

_Did your father, Christine Daae, ever tell you how much I loved and adored you? How I could not live without you?_

_Tomorrow, I shall dine you in Paris' finest bistro._

_Yours forever and a day,_

_Raoul'_

Elise squealed and pushed a torn enveloped into my shaking hands. Yes, it was unmistakable; I peered down at the "de Chagny" seal. A look of utter distaste and horror must have overcome me, for Elise shrank bank, her pretty eyes heavy with destined tears. She sniffled, stomped her foot and groaned at herself.

"Forgive me, mon cheri. I was so impatient…I…I peeked at his words…as you have now seen…you are not vexed, my dear?"

My eyes snapped from the de Chagny seal, settling on Elise's gentle gaze.

I reassured Elise, certainly not wanting her to misread the cause of my alarm. "Oh, no! I couldn't be vexed with you if I tried." She sighed in relief. I hugged her and forced and charming smile. She was charmed.

"I'm only tired. I…think I shall retire for the evening."

Elise pinched my cheek with a knowing grin, glanced down at the Vicomte's proclamation of love, and left me to my thoughts. Raoul and I had been childhood sweethearts…and I missed him beyond all reason.

Why did I feel this note was a _death sentence_…rather than the reuniting of two, long lost loves?

* * *

_Third person omniscient…_

Erik's body tightened at the sight of her. Christine stepped into the dressing room with a graceful motion. Her eyes were sad a shameful. She pressed the door shut and held her breath. A divine voice joined Christine; it visibly ran through her tiny form and penetrated her flesh. Within her presence, Erik felt like he was, indeed, a true, breathing Angel.

He had died and gone to Heaven.

Christine was perfection. Her gentle smile… the slight curve of her lips. Erik hummed a tender, Swedish lullaby, voice accompanied by a violin. The violin's song was so soft and brittle…it sounded like weeping. Though, musical accompaniment was unneeded; Erik was music.

The music of his voice resurrected Christine's tired body. Her innocence and unblemished soul flourished beneath his power. She twirled from the shut door and glanced high above, a sweet smile to her lips.

He fell into a perfect silence.

It was nearly Erik's undoing…the way those chocolate curls tumbled down her slim form…cushioning a porcelain face. The face of an angel. His baby angel.

Christine, Christine, Christine. He dreamt of Christine, fantasized about Christine…ached for Christine.

How he longed to hold Christine against his chest…stroke her neck…feel the pressure of her heartbeat pressed into his…see if her hair was as wonderfully soft as it appeared to be…

How Erik longed to clutch onto her curves during the throes of heated passion, never intending to free her from his embrace…basking in the unsteady melody of her breath upon his dewy neck…

He longed to love her as a husband loves his wife.

He loved his Christine.

Her voice quivered with an unmistakable passion and longing, "I feel you."

Erik stiffened. The Angel of Music could not find his voice.

"You are here, master. Yet, you do not speak. Oh, Angel, I have dissatisfied you!"

He was, indeed, dissatisfied. Erik cleared his throat, tone strict and authoritative. "You are late, Christine." Christine remained silent, voice lost to her burning throat. Quite suddenly, she found it hard to breathe.

"Have you nothing to say? Seems your noble suitor has stolen your tongue."

Of course he knew! The Angel sees, the Angel knows.

She blushed, back leaning powerlessly against the door. "Raoul is my dear friend. You know well I never plan to wed."

A deep—and rather shaky—sigh resonated. "Christine…you must love me…and me alone."

Christine sank to the floor, pulling her legs tightly to her chest. Her pretty features were flushed as they hid below the wall of her upright knees.

Her face pushed forward, her words muffled by the ruffled slave-girl attire. "How do you ask that of me? How do you ask that, when I have given myself to you…and you alone?"

The Voice sighed a beautiful sigh. _He_ was so beautiful. Christine Daae fell madly in love with her angel once more.

"Look…look into you mirror…look at yourself. You are nothing short of divine; you best grow immune to a suitor's pursuit. Such a thing is bound to happen…" The Angel continued, voice dark, dangerous, and curiously human. "I shall NOT have such a distracted student, CHRSTINE DAAE. Bestow your heart on earth, and I shall be left NO OTHER CHOICE but to LEAVE YOU and return to Heaven. Forever."

"And I would _die_ at such abandonment! I simply could not live without you…my opposite half."

The word was echoed with malice, "Opposite?…"

The Angel sneered. Yes—sneered! Imagine that—a sneering angel!

"I suppose the Vicomte de Chagny would make for fine company." He sighed angelically—but continued wickedly. "Your sweetheart OF SO LONG AGO and I are not so different, CHRISTINE. After all…he has a face which belongs with those of the angel's!" A stubborn silence. "Do you find him handsome, Christine? You best be honest, my child—I read through lies as a fisherman wades through his vast like."

Jealously? Was that…jealousy? For a fleeting moment, Christine Daae sincerely questioned her Angel's divinity. His words were those of a man. A cynical, cynical man. For the first time, Christine found herself fearing the Angel of Music.

"I forbid you dine with him tomorrow night—or any night hereafter. Your rightful place is with me."

Christine trembled at the power of his words. "Have I ever missed a lesson, my Angel?" Shuddering, "Why would tomorrow be any different than each evening…for the past eleven years?"

The silence broke her heart. "Tonight…I was sure you had forgotten me."

"On behalf of Raoul, you mean?" She betrayed herself and smiled at the familiar name.

And the angel snapped…

"You were out of voice tonight, _Miss __Daae_," Erik spat, knowing his words would cause her infinite pain. Tears cascaded down Christine's porcelain cheeks—as he imagined they would—and he immediately loathed himself with deepened passion.

"I…I apologize, songbird." Through a choked, strangled sound, "Your were nothing short of divine, mon ange. The angels wept tonight."

Christine peered above, smiling at Heaven. But when the Angel spoke, again, the voice was nestled just behind her—and his words impaled her flesh, brimming with every human emotion known to man. She felt the heat and _desire_ of his words.

Huskily, seductively, and silkily, "Christine…Christine Daae…you have never looked more beautiful…more divine than you do at this moment…"

Christine blushed, shuffling away from her flirtatious angel.

"I ache from the beauty of your soul…you have made me so proud." She could hear it…he was crying…her angel was weeping.

Christine also softly wept. She melted from the sheer romance of his words. It was the most intimate and breathtaking moment of her seventeen years.

Angel or man, friend or phantom? With whom did Christine Daae impart and share her soul?

"We are one, Christine Daae. We cannot escape each other."

"We cannot," Christine echoed.

Who was this strange angel? Christine hesitated and cleared her throat. Her ginger gaze fell upon her full-length reflection.

"Angel? Forgive me for asking—I simply must know. Do…do you have a name? To my understanding, angels quite often have names. There is Michael and Gabriel…there is Apollo, the ruler of the musical lair—" Fondling a cinnamon ringlet, words a delicate and hopeful whisper, "—why, I am quite sure you and Apollo are on intimate terms!…considering _you _are music. Apollo…Michael…they have names of their own—"

"As does Lucifer." The Voice spoke from below her feet.

"H-How do you mean?"

"Ah. I suppose you know him as Satan—Lucifer is his 'maiden' name…my dearest." The Voice continued, raspy, strained and more to himself, "Yes. Lucifer was an angel…before he fell."

Christine tucked her horror-struck face into the costume's jeweled folds, hiding from whatever dark force seemed to have been unveiled. The air was tight and ominous. Several moments of despair and loss passed by.

Who _was _this strange angel?

"Erik."

Her face perked—the slightest bit. Christine neatly tucked erratic curls behind each ear. Her breaths shortened, trembling lips parted in suspense.

"My name is Erik."

She smiled with a stinging blush. All thoughts of 'Lucifer' and 'fallen angels' were abandoned.

Having the adorable Voice attached to a man's name was beyond her. Her dreams would be much more vivid.

"Yours is a beautiful name, Erik. Such a name is becoming of an angel! Old Norse origin. Eternal ruler." Her smile broadened.

The voice chuckled—a dark, velvet sound. "Indeed. I fear you shall never cease to amaze me, my dear…"

"I should like my lesson now…my Erik."

A soft sob swelled the dressing room, brimming with tragedy. Erik sighed with a swollen heart. Christine's eyes widened in concern, her soul aching for Erik's despair. The Ghost's love story was unmasked through that cry.

"Ang—I mean, Erik?…"

The violin melody resumed. Christine swooned away in delight. It was so beautiful…so romantic…so full of life and love.

But the music gradually slowed…like a dying heartbeat.

"The voice of Heaven…he loves you, Christine Daae."

A deafening silence wallowed between Erik and Christine for what seemed an eternity.

Through a choked breath and evident shudder, "Now, on with your scales, my dear—"

"Do **you** love me…**Erik**?"

No violin, no adorable voice—nothing. Only silence.

"E-Erik? Erik? Erik! Erik! No, please! Please, my Erik! I cannot be without you…do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you…my beautiful, unhappy Erik…"

Christine knew…like a true phantom, Erik had vanished.

Her lips trembled as tears rolled down her porcelain cheeks.

Quivering arms snaked around her body, teeth chattering between a gritted jaw. Her tear-stained face fell forward in agony, hair blanketing her eyes; she made no attempt to move it. She could barely move…her heartbeat was in her ears…and it was so very loud…

Christine felt her spirit slowly ascending. Her skin paled to a ghostly white.

She hadn't felt such pain…such indescribable heartache and emptiness…since her Papa had died. She elegantly slid to the floor, far more corpse than human.

Her slim body spasmed, fighting to live. But her soul surrendered.

Christine's limbs curled into a tight fetal position. Christine held her breath. She felt so…cold…so numb…

She wished for sleep…she ached to dream. Her Angel of Music would be waiting. Within the gates of Apollo's Lair, they would be together. Within Apollo's Musical Lair, she and the angel were one.

Forever and a day.

_Holy angel, in Heaven blessed…_

_My spirit longs with thee to rest…_

_Fate links thee to me forever and a day…_

The darkness was closing in on her.

She was dying of love.

The Angel of Music's voice welcomed her. He blanketed Christine with mighty wings, pulling his angel to the nervous beat of his chest. Their two souls wedded.

The angels were one.

Christine was dying of her love for Erik…

_"Christine Daae…Christine, my angel…turn your face from the garish light…come, come with me…come to my home…come sing for me!…Christine…please, do not be afraid; I am here…here to guide you…you are safe now…now, there is only us…forever and a day."_

And then…all fell silent.

She smiled through her tears. "We cannot escape each other. We cannot."

* * *

Two days later the Epoque read:

_'Tragedy witin the walls of Paris' renowned Opera House._

_Opera Populaire's Christine Daae discovered deceased. Her rumored debut, as possible consideration for leading soprano, was anticipated for tonight's Gala. _

_Condolences to family and friends, and all whom loved her. May her soul find eternal rest. May the angels receive her.'_

_

* * *

_

_(a/n: I wanted to clear up any possible confusion on what had happened to Erik. I apologize; it was left slightly unanswered._

_-SPOILER-_

_What exactly had become of Erik?: Erik had merely left the dressing-room, startled, frightened and completely unprepared for Christine's question (Do you love me...Erik?) ...as well as her possible discovery of his humanity. Christine interpreted this as abandonment._

_Thanks so much for reading!)_


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